


In the Name, Give Them Hell

by Enochian_Joke



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8487433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enochian_Joke/pseuds/Enochian_Joke
Summary: Demon possessing Meg Masters, and later an unknown girl, contemplates their life as it was and as it is. Later, the demon meets with Castiel and feelings happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been interested in Meg the demon for ages now, and I wrote this around the beginning of season 10, so there's talk of Dean being a demon, and Castiel has the stolen grace inside him, but that's about as canon compliant as it gets. It's from Meg's POV, and it's mostly about where she's at, at this point in time (as I continue to walk the "Meg is Absolutely Still Alive" merry road of ignoring canon).

They still remember the time when they had no name, when they had no self as they do now, when they were nothing but smoke, bended and mended by whomever wielded the power, by whomever could make a promise of a better something. 

They thought they had a purpose, they thought it was all going to mean something when the time came for the devil to rise. All the pain and all the suffering, it would all amount to a Heaven, the kind they were promised, the kind they could get to.

Their first vessel was a young woman named Meg Masters. She was on her way towards a bright academic future and a solid career in finance. 

Meg was walking alone, on her way back to her room at the campus of her chosen college, when a dark smoke clouded her vision and entered her unwilling body. 

They didn't think much of Meg back then, she was just a convenient vessel. They paid no mind to the girl's life, to her studies, to her dreams and desires. A lump of flesh and bones, condensed into a human form. Nothing else and nothing more.

Meg had struggled, she was quite the fighter, but it didn't matter. They liked it even, the resistance before the inevitable failure. It was thrilling, unlike anything they'd ever experienced before. Having a vessel had been better than they could have imagined. 

Being out of Hell was better than they could have imagined. 

Finally, a purpose other than to torture, a purpose other than to exist solely to be someone's exemplary substitute. They were going to make the world a better place, they were going to make their father proud. What a nice little thought it was, what a nice little idea. They were going to have something for themselves. Hell didn't offer much in the way of pleasure.

They decided on a haircut, excited at the prospect of choosing a visage more suited to tastes they didn't even know they had. They even stole some clothes, finding most of the clothes their vessel wore to be unbecoming and unattractive.

Looking at themselves in the mirror, through borrowed eyes, possibilities seemed endless, choices open, but the very future they vowed to fight for clear and solid, and absolutely great.

Indeed, back then, things were simpler, choices smaller and less likely to lead to failure. After all, nothing bad could come out of choosing which clothes to wear or what kind of a haircut to have. 

They didn't know exactly why they adopted the name. It wasn't common, it wasn't to be done, but they had no name of their own, not like Azazel, not like Lucifer. And, even if they had one once, they could no longer remember it. Meg, Meg sounded good, it sounded right. Even the screams and the struggle of their vessel couldn't stop them. They were one step closer to existing, rather than just being.

They regretted losing the vessel, having grown attached as they did, but it was inevitable. Demonic possession can only keep you going for so long, before someone you gravely underestimated steals your vessel from you. Though, they suspected, perhaps taking one of them as the vessel wasn't exactly their best idea.

Still, it was fun, and it had been a choice, even if it didn't feel exactly right. At least some of their anger abated, while they waited.

Next vessel they chose wasn't one they wanted either, but it was the most convenient one. It was someone powerful, someone they needed. They didn't question orders at the time, so the matter of not doing it didn't even come up. 

They spent months in the greasy overweight male vessel, trying their damnedest to do good, to be good, to do their job. Finally, one day, they were told they had to leave, finish the job, and find another one.

At the time, their male vessel had a woman with them, one who had been a frequent guest in their vessel's perverted games he paid good money for. A small thing, so very small. She was cuddled up in the corner of the expensive hotel bedroom where they'd been situated, trembling, exhausted, scared. They didn't think playing their role, when it wasn't so much different than the one they played in Hell, would weigh even a little bit on them. But, it did. 

They didn't know why.

They took the bloodied knife the man had used, and cut the body deep and steady, right along the neck line. The woman screamed.

They didn't leave immediately. They weren't sure why.

Instead, they walked up to the woman, still very much in the corner, folded in on herself, hugging her knees, blood everywhere. Her breathing, it wasn't normal. The woman was very pale, close to death.

„What's your name?“ They asked, still not knowing why it even mattered.

The woman looked up, tears in her dark brown eyes and down her cheeks. She swallowed thickly and coughed, her arms going up to her bloodied stomach. There was no longer fear there, and soon there would be nothing. 

She smiled. „Am I already dead? Is this some kind of Hell? I always figured I'd end up there, I just didn't think it was gonna be this soon.“

They laughed, the right side of their vessel's mouth curling up, above the line that they'd cut, from which blood still fell. They sat in front of the woman, down on her eye level.

„This isn't anything like Hell, it's all fun and games down there.“ They said.

The woman scoffed, traces of blood pouring out through her chapped lips. „Somehow, I doubt that.“ 

A moment passed between them before she spoke: „Meg. My name is Meg.“

Knowing what they know, they would have been fools not to believe in fate, or in grand schemes making things the way they are, so there was hardly anything to do but smile, again, and sigh.

„I was in a Meg once, way better than this shithead.“ They said.

Meg looked ready to pass out, but with an amazing bout of strength managed: „I guarantee you, us Megs, we're great at one thing at least. You'd know.“

They nodded. „Yes, I would. But I don't mean it like that. I mean it like this.“ They blinked and revealed to her then, what was barely a glimpse of what they were. Not even a third of the sulfuric non-corporeal being Hell turned them into.

The woman's heart rate quickened, her eyes spread wide, sweat falling down the side of her face in three small drops. They didn't know whether it was the blood loss or them but, whatever it was, they had to wrap up quickly anyway, seeing a how they had work to do.

„I would like...“ They began, feeling the words out, finding them strange and uncomfortable, like asking for permission was even necessary. But, they saw what this man had done to this woman, what they had done to her, and they thought it at least fair, to ask before she died.

„I would like to take your body when you die, can I do that? I like it, I'll take care of it.“ They said.

The woman was in shock, they could tell, but they had some more time to wait it out. Meg finally spoke, a mere minute later. Her eyes focused on the vessel, she said: „Sure...okay. Why not, I mean, I'm going to die anyway, right? It doesn't matter anymore.“

They huffed. „Oh sweetie, don't ever underestimate the importance of a good sturdy vessel.“ 

The woman laughed, coughing up more blood. „This is taking an awfully long time, who'd know dying is such a goddamn hassle.“ 

„I agree. Death's great, but getting there sucks. But if you end up in Hell, this is not going to seem so bad in comparison.“ They offered, shifting where they sat, unaccustomed to offering anything to anyone.

„I thought it was all fun and games down there.“ She said, faintly amused. They shrugged.

„Promise me something though.“ The woman began, to which they nodded.

„If I end up in Hell, find me sometimes, we can chat more.“

They chose not to tell her that her capacity or willingness to chat, by the time it would take them to find her even if they bothered to do so, would most likely be greatly diminished.

***

They were Meg again.

It felt...right. It felt, good. They thought, perhaps, it may not be solely in the name.

They remember going to an empty apartment they'd scouted some days before, and finding a mirror. 

They thought that maybe someone else would find a vessel confining, maybe someone who is greater than them, who is more than them, someone like their father, who should always be nothing less than free. But, for them, it was good, it was secure.

Meg was beautiful. They, they were beautiful. They were just the way they were supposed to be. After all, surely Hell can't begrudge a girl for doing something for herself every once in a while.

A girl. That was the day they decided and Meg hasn't looked back since.

***

Being a girl had its perks, beyond mere aesthetics. An unassuming thin body of a small statured woman made it so very easy for Meg to lure whomever she wanted, to do whatever she wanted. And, if it came down to it, whatever it is that they'd decide to do to her, she had more than enough ways to make them regret it.

When she thought about all the soul count she'd racked up for Hell, she smiled, enjoying her menthol's in crisp clean mountain air. 

Back then, it really was simpler.

She couldn't have known just how messy it was going to become, even if she knew it wasn't exactly going to be a walk in the park to bring down Heaven.

They didn't bring down Heaven, in the end. Her old angel shield and an occasional partner did, him and his ridiculous desperate naivety. Meg could have sworn she'd warned him, time and time again, to be more careful.

Castiel never was very good at following orders, unless they were to please Dean.

Meg sometimes found herself wondering why that was. She figured, given that the last time she saw Castiel he was determined not to search them out, he'd finally found some common sense. Not that sticking to her was a particularly good idea on his part either, but still.

Alone as she'd been lately, she almost wanted him back. Almost.

At the very least so she could smack him and curse him out until he stopped being a perpetual ticking time bomb, waiting to fuck everything up.

***

Castiel showed up on her doorstep a week after Meg heard, from what little sources she had left, about Dean and his new found demon self who was apparently now working with Crowley.

It would have made her laugh, once, but now it just made her feel nothing in particular.

She opened the door to the apartment she borrowed, and there he was. Meg could already tell he was no longer graceless, but could also sense it wasn't quite that simple. It never was. It didn't feel like him. She wondered if she should let him in.

„I am myself. You can let me in.“ He said, as serious and earnest as ever.

So Meg let him in. 

He looked around, drinking in the place, as if it was of any interest to him. Finally, he sat on the sofa near the window, where Meg's lit cigarette had been burning itself out.

„So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?“ Meg resolved to ask, as casually as she possibly could, as she reclaimed her cigarette.

Castiel sighed as he normally did, as though he could never completely lend himself to exhaustion. 

„I failed.“ He said, gravely, barely in a whisper.

Meg cocked her eyebrow at that and hummed. „Damn Clarence, that's just what you normally do, isn't it?“ She said, catching herself at the end of it, thinking maybe that wasn't what she should have said and almost immediately berating herself for even giving a thought to it. 

Castiel afforded a nod to that, seemingly not offended. „Yes, that is what I do.“ He said.  
„However, this time, I'm afraid I just...I don't know...I don't know.“ 

Meg didn't know whether to punch him or hug him. She'd have said she regretted wanting him with her for even a second, but she couldn't say that, couldn't even, in all honesty, think it.

„What did you do?“ She asked, resolving herself to yet another Castiel pity party.

Castiel took his time. His expression hardly changed but Meg could tell there was so much in that head of his, so very many bad things happening. She could see some of it, some of what had situated itself under the vessel, and it was making her nervous. So she took another cigarette, for good measure, even though it felt like nothing, because the motions seemed to always soothe her.

„Dean is dead.“ He finally spoke, and looked up. 

Meg had never seen Castiel cry, and she was pretty sure nobody else ever had either, but right then, she could have sworn it was there, and it was going to happen.

And it did. 

Castiel didn't sob, he didn't scream. Instead, he let the tears fall, and he let his exhaustion take him. He slumped against the sofa, breathing in a deep breath.

Meg didn't like anyone getting overly familiar with her, unless she needed them for something. Castiel, however, for him, again, she was feeling nothing but irrational emotion.

She sat down next to him, though not close enough to touch, and looked at him, willing him to do something, anything other than cry. Meg never did have patience for it, Castiel knew that. She debated with herself, how smart it would be to tell him Dean was very much alive, even if he was most likely as far from the old Dean as he could've possibly been . She thought maybe Castiel did know, and a demon Dean was as good to him as a dead one.

The thought felt deeply unpleasant.

„Want something to drink? Quench that shit with some other shit?“ She offered then, unwilling to keep the silence going.

Castiel nodded and smiled, the way he usually did, small and barely there. Meg accepted it for now and got up to find a liquor cabinet, or something like it. She hadn't really had time to settle in quite yet.

She came back with cheap whiskey and two shot glasses in tow. Castiel took his drink, and smiled at her again. Meg wondered if it was even genuine, or if he was just being polite in wake of seemingly being unable to speak. Then she wondered, again, why that thought would even have crossed her mind.

„Crowley's still alive.“ She said as she relaxed into the sofa, bringing her ashtray closer to her. „And that's bumming me out.“ 

Castiel huffed a little, in what seemed to be agreement. „Yes, that is quite unfortunate.“ He confirmed.

„I don't understand how he does it really.“ Meg started, taking a long slow drag out of the cigarette, taking it all in and letting it go. It didn't make her feel any better. „ I mean, he just can't seem to croak, and he's nowhere near where I can reach him...and now, with his new partner it's just...“ Meg stopped, frustrated at herself.

Castiel noticed, of course, but he didn't say anything to point it out, instead he said: „Crowley does make powerful allies. You should too.“ And looked at her with all the concern he could muster in his tired worn out stare.

„Well, I have you Clarence, don't I?“ Meg nudged his arm lightly, a playful tone, yet barely enough certainty in it to scrape by.

„Of course.“ Castiel said, firmly, and, were it anyone else, she wouldn't have believed them for a second.

They drank another two shots in silence, and Meg polished one more cigarette. The wind outside had been getting progressively stronger, and, judging by the sky, there seemed to be a storm brewing. 

„You staying here tonight?“ Meg asked.

„If you'll have me, I would like to stay.“ Castiel said, already shrugging out of his coat. 

„Oh, I'll have you, you won't even know what hit you.“ She teased, but there was no force in it. 

She got up to close the blinds and secure the windows. It was getting darker so she turned on a small night light, judging it to be enough. 

Meg then joined Castiel on the sofa and they picked up where they'd left of, as though there was no time in between, as thought it was just this morning that they'd come together. 

***

„What's wrong with you?“ Meg asked, lying next to Castiel on the floor, covered in thin sheets, where they'd somehow ended up.

„Did I do something wrong?“ Castiel asked as he got up, alarmed, looking Meg up and down, as though searching for an injury.

Meg laughed a little at that. „You did plenty wrong, but not this, this is, if you ask me, one of not many things you can do just right.“ She teased, going for what she hoped was a soothing kiss.

It did work, as Castiel calmed down and laid back down again. „What did you mean?“ He asked.

„Your grace, or whatever it is you have tethered to you, what's with it? It feels, looks, weird.“ Meg explained, willing herself not to put too much worry into that question however unable she was to not frown while she asked it.

Castiel didn't look at her when he got up and she didn't get an answer for a good long while. 

She got up as well and moved to the sofa. Castiel used one of the sheets to cover himself and tossed the other one to her. Meg was momentarily confused, before she shrugged it off as one peculiarity she didn't want to deal with that day.

When Castiel finally sat down next to her, requesting a shot and downing it swiftly, she got her answer.

„I'm dying.“ He said. „I stole another angel's grace, and it's going to inevitably burn me out.“

Meg took a moment to collect herself at that, trying her damnedest to extinguish anything resembling emotion, as easily as she crushed the buds of cigarettes she couldn't seem to stop smoking.

„Meg?“ Castiel called to her from somewhere on her right, as she busied herself pouring a drink and lighting one up, even while she felt like she'd need to smoke the whole pack at once.

„You know, I would like it if, for once, you would come here, we could have a nice drink, a good hard fuck, without all this emotional lovey dovey sharing and caring bullshit.“ She snapped, her voice breaking out of the drawl Castiel had become so accustomed to.

He didn't understand, she could see that, and she didn't care. Meg had too much on her plate to care about one angel, one incredibly stupid naive angel who couldn't take care of himself no matter how many times he insisted that he could, no matter how many times he told her that he's got it, that he's fine, that she didn't need to come with him, that she should focus on herself. 

And Meg did, that's what she has done ever since she learned that subscribing yourself to a cause that isn't your own is bound to end in misery, and that everything she was promised would never happen, that nobody played the game fairly, nobody. That there's nothing in this world but the next day, and then the next one, and each day you bring yourself back up from wherever you stashed yourself, to continue to exist because you aren't even sure if you could die, and if you did, where you'd end up.

Meg didn't want to know where demons would go when they died. And she didn't want to know where angels go when they die, because, she suspected, it's that they both don't go anywhere.

You can only ever trust yourself, Meg has learned, but she didn't trust herself then, and she couldn't look at him.

„Meg...“ Castiel said her name again, but she couldn't do that now, she couldn't respond at all.

It had been a year and she hadn't done a single worthwhile thing. The last time she had fun was back when there was something for her at the end of it all, when there was still a great big Heaven waiting for her. Lately, she couldn't seem to ever do anything for herself anymore. 

She wondered if Meg should continue to exist, if existing is any better than just being. A being who didn't sway and didn't feel a thing, just a sulfuric smoke, waiting on their next orders.

„Castiel...do you want to go outside with me?“ She asked, looking at the closed blinds, hearing the wind knocking on them, heavy rain steadily falling.

„It's raining.“ He remarked, as though Meg didn't know. Always with the obvious.

„You are so obtuse, you know that?“ She said, but there was no accusation in that tired voice.

„I suspect so, yes.“ Castiel agreed, not even one tone awry to suggest that he didn't. 

Meg afforded that a small smile. She got up then, and put her clothes back on, tossing Castiel his when she was done. He took them and dressed himself while she waited, packing some of her things in a small bag.

„Where are we going?“ Castiel asked, a little bit of worry evident in his voice.

Meg shrugged. „I don't know. Somewhere.“ She said absently, searching for another cigarette pack somewhere on the bedroom floor beneath the table, or the chair.

„Someone might attack us. We should lay low.“ Castiel warned, but it was unclear to Meg whether he genuinely thought she was going to listen to him, or if he thought if he warned her he'd get to gloat later, when they will both be getting killed.

But no, Meg didn't think that's what Castiel would do, and that's precisely among the things that annoyed her about him.

She found the pack and slammed it in her bag. „Let's go.“ She said, motioning for Castiel to join her.

She let him have a second before she took his arm and dragged him out. They rode an elevator down to the first floor, and then they exited outside, where heavy rain was still falling, and the sky was alight with lightning and thunder.

Castiel flinched minutely upon seeing that, to which Meg hit his arm and led him from underneath the cover of the building's entrance and into the rain. Both got wet immediately, but Meg didn't care. It felt nice, even if she thought she didn't feel things the exact same way humans did. She wondered what it felt like to Castiel, and whether it felt like anything at all, before she remembered his graceless stage and then this.

„Come on, let's move.“ She called for him again, and they started walking.

Soon enough they found a bar that was opened and relatively free of people and, this time, it was Castiel who dragged Meg in after him.

„I dislike getting wet.“ He explained to her once they were seated, drink orders taken by a dude who could not have looked less pleased to have two soaking wet customers to serve.

„I think your prick would disagree, seeing as how it can get really wet.“ Meg retorted in a snipping voice.

„Why are you like this Meg? Did I say something wrong?“ Castiel resolved to ask, instead of snapping back.

The dude brought them their drinks and they took a few sips in uncomfortable silence, some kind of an old classic playing in the background. Something Castiel would normally associate with Dean, Meg figured, but instead of appearing as though he was dwelling on that uncomfortably miserable thought, he downed his drink and looked back at Meg, willing her to talk.

„Meg, I can't stop this. What I've done, it's unforgivable, and I don't deserve...“ Castiel began, but wasn't given a chance to finish because Meg looked at him, all of the murky and unpleasant feelings within her evident in her stern gaze.  
„You don't deserve to be saved. I get it, I don't either. We've both slaughtered what amounts to millions, although I think you actually have me beat there, and we've both been made into who we are by someone out there with a weapon in their hands and a grand plan at the end of it.“ Meg said, with finality.

She couldn't quite read Castiel at all at that point, so she simply continued.

„We aren't even supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be in Hell, torturing some poor sap who doesn't even know what's waiting for them, and you...you're supposed to be in Heaven.“

To that, Castiel did have a reaction. „I want to go back. I don't want this. I want to be an angel. But I...“ And again, he stopped, anguish all over that vessel's pretty face, the grace Meg could just barely catch glimpses of, burning.

„I will torture him for you.“ Meg said suddenly, but solemnly, and knew she should regret saying it, knew she shouldn't have said it, but there it was. No take backs.

„No...“ Castiel countered and seemed to want to say more. Meg felt so foolish. 

„You're scared Castiel. You're always scared. And you always run away. It's pathetic.“ She drawled out, downing her shot and immediately calling for the waiter. 

Meg didn't miss Castiel's troubled expression, but she ignored it in favor of ordering them a whole bottle of whiskey. To save time.

„Do you even have the money to pay for this?“ Castiel asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

„Of course I don't. It doesn't matter either way, we can do whatever we want, or did that escape your notice?“ Meg noticed a strange flicker of something like bitterness in Castiel, a bitterness he hid over a sneer.

„It certainly did not. But just because we can do whatever we want, that doesn't mean we get to do whatever we want.“ Castiel spit out, pouring more of the whiskey than the glass can hold. It spilled.

There was the silence again. Meg didn't think their silences would ever become like this, so far from comfortable and so incredibly charged with a curious sort of malice and disdain, almost exactly what was there way back, when they hadn't yet known each other this honestly and deeply.

„It seems there's a ghost in those words. Or a demon, rather.“ Meg said, spiteful enough now to no longer keep it to herself. Castiel didn't react, and she was tired of playing games.

„You do know Dean's a demon now, right? He's not really dead.“ She said, calm as ever, the bored drawl back in place. 

It took a moment for Castiel to react, but when he did, the whole whiskey bottle flew into a wall opposite them, narrowly missing two old men.

They cursed and yelled and began approaching, but by then, Castiel was careless enough to subdue them by a simple touch, and they ran.

„So we have to run now huh, that's great!“ Shouted Meg against the rain, with barely enough breath. Castiel grabbed her arm and ran faster.

„I don't have my wings anymore Meg!“ He yelled back, wiping the rain from his mouth.

A few minutes later and they were hiding in an alleyway. They didn't need to hide, Meg thought, nor did they need to run. Humans could do absolutely nothing to them. If they'd wanted, they could have had the bar all to themselves. Meg knew that is exactly what she would have done way back, when she hadn't been pretending to be something she was not. 

Both of them contended to stay silent all the way back to Meg's place. 

„Seriously, how did you not know?“ Meg asked. „I thought you and Sam were buddying it up again.“ 

Castiel rid himself of his wet clothes, shrugged on a robe he found in the closet, and didn't answer. He sat on the sofa and poured himself what was left of the whiskey. 

„It's not exactly top secret...“ Meg started, but realized there was no point.

Castiel downed his whiskey while Meg sat down next to him and lit a cigarette. „I've been in Heaven.“ He said. „I've been in Heaven since...you're the first one I came to.“ 

Meg didn't know how to feel about that so she avoided it by focusing on the cigarette. Castiel sighed and rubbed his forehead, leaning against the sofa. „I didn't know.“ He said. 

Disappointment, regret, anger, Meg assumed all of it was there, even if his voice was just tired now.

„Tomorrow, we're gonna blow this joint, and we're going to slam some casinos back south, how does that sound?“ She offered instead.

Castiel smiled. „So you're not angry with me anymore?“ He asked, hopeful.

Meg rolled her eyes and drew on her cigarette. „Shut up.“

***

The night was well under way into early morning hours by the time they've played a round of cards and drank some left over wine. Neither of them spoke much, but the storm had passed.

„I don't want you to die.“ Meg said, while shuffling cards. She didn't look at him, she couldn't.

Hands on hers startled her. Castiel took the cards away from her and moved close enough for her to feel the breath of his vessel on her cheek.

„I'm sorry.“ He said, as though it was enough to just say that.

Meg didn't understand why she cared, and she was afraid she might never understand, and while she kept on being confused and lost, the feelings she thought got well and truly burned out in Hell, might just suffocate and destroy her. 

For the first time in a long time, she thought of Meg, the one who had an appointment with her sister before Meg, before they, denied her life, denied her freedom. A human who was forced to look at all the horrible things they did, the things Meg didn't have centuries in Hell to prepare her for, to convince her that death is exciting, great, a thrill like no other. 

Taking someone's life didn't mean a damn thing, whether they were a demon or a human, or something else altogether. It didn't matter. They wanted desperately to believe that it never had and that it didn't now. 

They sometimes wondered who they were before. Whether they had killed as freely and joyfully, and whether that was the reason they'd ended up in Hell.

„I thought demons didn't cry.“ They heard Castiel say, felt his hand on their cheek, wiping the liquid away.

„Neither do angels.“ They said.

Castiel frowned at that, and seemed to think something over carefully, before he spoke. „It seems as though you don't have to be human to feel. I don't know if that's a good thing.“

They laughed a little at that. It certainly didn't seem to be a good thing. In fact, it was probably dangerous more than anything else. Demons don't feel these things, they kill, that's what they do. They lie. They conquer. They don't care. A demon who cares is weak, useless, and a great big target. 

An angel who feels, perhaps even more so.

„Do you...“ They began, but uncertainty choked them all up. „...do you know who I was? Before I was this?“

Castiel looked plainly confused with a pronounced frown and his head titled just a bit. They bit their vessel's lip, and tried again.

„You've been alive for longer than I've been a demon.“ They explained. „Don't I remind you of someone? Or was I completely irrelevant and there's no way you'd remember me.“

Thankfully, Castiel at least looked like he was thinking about it this time around. In the end he shook his head.

„I'm sorry, I don't know. But you aren't irrelevant.“ He said, and they felt like laughing...or screaming.

Or like they could bite someone's head off.

„It doesn't matter.“ They said. „I'm becoming so damn sappy. I'd blame you, but I can't even do that. I can't even be angry with you anymore.“

„You said I was afraid.“ He started, looking down at his open palms. „ You are correct. I'm terrified. Every time I visited Heaven, I felt...I was so scared. I know Naomi is no longer alive, but I see her, everywhere.“ He stopped, swallowed, and they could swear, he shivered.

„I see Naomi in every angel who stands cold and firm, waiting for me to tell them what to do. I see the needle going into them, forcing them to not think, to not feel, to obey. It's...it's too much.“ 

At that, his voice finally broke. They put a hand on his shoulder, they didn't know what else to do.

„And I wanted to, so badly, I wanted to kill Metatron. I wanted to...I wished I could end him. I can't even look at him. It makes me feel sick. I...I don't know what to do anymore. They want me to lead, but I'm no leader. I'm not equipped. I...I'm just an angel. I'm just like them. There's nothing I can do.“

Another break. They poured the rest of the wine in a glass, offered it, and Castiel took it, downed it at once, and swallowed hard. His vessel's eyes were watery again. They didn't know what to do.

„I can't lead them, I can't, I don't want to make them obey me. But I can't teach them, I don't know how to make them understand. It's hopeless.“

They sighed. „Yes it is.“ 

Castiel looked at them, and if there was a way to punch all of that pain out of him, they would do it. But there was no way, no way other than a needle, no way other than an assortment of weapons on a bloody table next to an equally bloody rack. No way other than to bleed it out.

„And now, Dean. I don't even know where to begin with that.“ He said, exasperated.

They thought the answer to that was pretty clear, but they also knew that Castiel's common sense was screwed very much the wrong way when it came to Dean. They had a fleeting thought of taking care of that problem themselves. It was fleeting because they understood that, if Dean were to die by their hand, Castiel would surely destroy them.

„You could...stop thinking about him. He has his brother to take care of him.“ And if they sounded bitter saying that, it was because they absolutely were bitter.

Castiel frowned at that and it was written all over him. He wouldn't let it go that easily.

„Dean is...my friend.“ Their stupid angel said, voice all but secured in that fact. They knew the brothers had no friends to speak of, not anyone who wasn't expendable at the very least.

„What good friends to have.“ Is all they said to that.

Castiel looked at them with a decidedly unreadable expression. His hands were playing with the lapels of his half wet robe. When he stopped, he said: „They certainly aren't perfect. Dean and Sam. But we've been through much together. I can't just leave Dean to be damned forever.“

And they would know all there was to know about damnation. It's a curious thing, when you've known nothing else. There's a comfort in being cursed for all your conscious existence because there was nowhere farther to fall from that. You were allowed transgressions, you were allowed sin. It was expected of you even. You could exercise the devil within and feel nothing. That is to say, you could have, until you did start to feel something.

They thought they were going to be sick.

„Meg...are you okay?“ A voice in the distance asked and they nodded even while clutching at the thin fabric of their shirt, for a moment there not recognizing the name. 

„Don't you ever wish you could go back to not feeling anything? Don't you wish you could go back to the time when you didn't care about Dean?“ They asked, all the drawl gone from their voice, the shape of this question forming from a sincere and entirely too vulnerable a place.

„I have cared for Dean from the moment I pulled him out of Hell. And going back to the time before that, blindly being made to follow...it would be my own Hell.“ Their angel said, genuine tone to his gruff voice.

„Yeah well...I've been in Hell, for centuries. Is it fucked up that I want to go back to when things were simpler? To when I didn't...“ And then they looked at him, Castiel the angel, the antithesis to everything they were, and they could no longer speak.

„I care for you too Meg.“ Castiel simply said. „And I care for Dean. I care for everyone and everything, and if the alternative is to feel nothing, to be unmade, then I would never take it and I pity anyone who would.“

They smirked. „So then, you pity me?“

Castiel shook his head, grasped the hands that weren't theirs again. „I promise, I would never pity you. I never could. I've felt disdain for you, even disgust. But that wasn't right. What I feel now is right. It feels right. And it may be the only thing that is. We are both adrift, are we not? If I pitied you, I'd have to pity myself.“

„And you don't?“ They asked. „You're quite good at that too.“

Castiel smiled then, and somehow it made them smile too. „Feelings are complicated, that much I realize. But we don't have to be. You said to me once, that we have to live with the choices we now have. To learn, to grow. That is, perhaps, all we can do.“

„So you will become their leader then?“ They asked.

„I can't.“ Castiel said. „But I will do whatever else I can, so that they are safe.“

***

They waited until morning to leave. They decided being a girl called Meg was one of the choices they'd made, but it was also a promise. A sick, terrible, and inhuman promise, but a promise nonetheless.

Meg realized she might never know who she was before she was unmade, but that going down that path would lead her to become even more stagnant and unhappy.

So she took the name back, and smiled at Castiel. „Don't you dare die on me.“ She said.

„That would be too easy of a way out for me.“ Castiel said. „And I have work to do.“

„So do I.“ Meg agreed. „Let's give them hell.“

***


End file.
